


Paper Hearts

by mousecookie



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Oblivious Cisco, Pining Harry, and really a ridiculous amount of schmoop, obligatory Valentine's Day oneshot, tipsy kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousecookie/pseuds/mousecookie
Summary: Cisco is determined to show the world he's moved on from Cynthia, and decides the best way to do it is a Valentine’s Day date with a pretty blonde barista from Jitters.  It doesn’t go at all as he planned, but the result might not be so bad after all.
Relationships: Cisco Ramon/Earth-2 Harrison "Harry" Wells
Comments: 25
Kudos: 144





	Paper Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BonitaBreezy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonitaBreezy/gifts).



> Bonita, this one is also your fault, because you told me to do it. I hope you're happy.

It was Valentine’s Day in Central City. Storefronts were festooned with colorful streamers and heart-themed merchandise, oversized stuffed animals with big ribbons, and boxes of chocolates. The greeting card aisle of every grocery store was packed with customers, and the line for the street florist by the newsstand on 7th and Main wrapped around the corner of the block. 

Cisco Ramon had himself a date. It had been an age since he’d been on one. There had been all the aftermath of The Thinker, and processing the breakup with Cynthia, and he hadn’t been left with much emotional energy after that. And then Harry had returned from Earth 2, his intelligence restored. Cisco had happily spent more and more time in the labs, doing crazy, day-saving science with Harry at his elbow, laughing as Harry threw junk at the walls when he was frustrated, and protesting when he tossed delicate instruments to Cisco that shouldn’t be tossed.

But then Cisco had realized Valentine’s Day was coming up. And how before, he’d celebrated One-One-One Day with Cynthia (if a little belatedly) and how _good_ it had felt. And how sad it would feel now, to be alone on a romantic holiday. He’d decided then that was going to prove to himself that he was over his breakup. He was single and ready to mingle! Like Harry had said that one time - he was a ‘ _fine, upstanding, smart, well-groomed young man’._ He was very eligible. A super catch.

And as it turned out, he hadn’t lost his charm in securing dates.

“Gonna wrap up early today,” he announced to the Cortex at large, spinning in his rolling chair. “Because who’s got two thumbs and a Valentine’s date with the smokin’ hot barista from Jitters, the _lovely_ and _cultured_ Aurélie? This guy!”

“We know,” Caitlin rolled her eyes.

“Wait, really?” Iris said, sounding surprised. She turned briefly to Barry. “I wasn’t sure the other… six, honey?”

“Six,” Barry nodded, lips pursed around a smile.

“ _Six_ times you said something about it, Cisco,” teased Iris, breaking into a grin.

“Did I mention she’s French?” Cisco replied, unabashed.

“Oooh la la,” Ralph said as he walked in, waggling his eyebrows. “Hopefully this barista doesn’t have a reincarnated hawk-god lover like I heard the last one did.”

“Ooh, still hurts,” Cisco grinned, dramatically clutching at his chest. “Maybe this time it’ll be a centaur-god I get left for. Or like… a reverse merman. You know, fish head, human body?” 

He earned a few chuckles with that one. He was putting on a show for the benefit of his friends, but the truth was that it really did still hurt. People he was with always seemed to have something better to move onto - something more important. Like a first love. Kendra’s had been Carter. Cynthia’s had been her bounty-hunting work. He was never good enough to stick around for. 

“I’m going to the lab,” said Harry abruptly. He stood from his work station and vanished from the room like a dark shadow. 

Cisco frowned and watched him go. “Do you think they have Valentine’s Day on Earth 2?”

There was a collective shrug.

“You could ask him,” Caitlin suggested. “Maybe it’s got a different meaning over there.” 

Cisco was still staring at the doorway where Harry had gone through.

“Maybe.”

Harry had been sullen all day, Cisco thought. And while “grumpy” was in regular rotation among Harry’s routine emotions, even after the balance he’d achieved post-Thinking Cap, today he seemed... particularly miffed. 

Cisco cracked his knuckles, stood up, and strode out of the Cortex after Harry. Detective Cisco was on the case.

When Cisco entered the lab, he was promptly bonked on the head by a flying whiteboard eraser. “Hey!” he squawked indignantly.

“Oh. Ramon. Sorry.” Harry’s lips pursed, and he looked down, seeming genuinely contrite. “I wasn’t… I didn’t know you were going to be there.”

Apologies were a newer development from Harry, though no longer a shocking one. Ever since his temporary brush with having a much lower IQ, he’d been more attuned to his emotions, and accordingly, to the emotions of others as well.

“I swear vengeance for this mortal wound,” Cisco said lowly, clenching his fist in front of him. “Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your family. Dishonor on your cow.”

“You have an ink mark on your forehead,” Harry told him, indicating a spot on his own.

Cisco pouted and wiped at it with his sleeve, looking upward like he could see the spot if he squinted hard enough. “Did I get it?”

“Nope,” Harry replied. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the workbench, watching. “Little to the left.”

Cisco moved left. “Now?”

Harry tilted his head and considered him, face grave. “No, still there. Further down.”

Cisco did as directed. “Now?”

“Actually, it’s more up and to the right,” Harry told him.

Cisco did as directed, and found he was scrubbing his sleeve over the spot he’d tried in the first place. He gasped in outrage at being fooled. “How _dare_ you!” he accused, pointing at Harry.

The neutral line of Harry’s mouth cracked into a little grin. “Quite easily.” He pushed off the workbench and returned to the whiteboard to continue scribbling equations.

“Sooo….” Cisco stuffed his hands in his pockets, then took them out again, then hoisted himself up to sit on the workbench opposite Harry’s glass whiteboard, watching him through it.

“So,” Harry said, crossing out a section of numbers with a sharp motion.

“I have a date tonight,” Cisco said.

The marker squeaked loudly as Harry flubbed a line. “So I heard. Several times,” he said shortly. He glared at the mistake on the board and rubbed at it with his thumb, but only succeeded in smearing it.

“Are you… okay?” Cisco asked, squinting as Harry rubbed at the ink with his sleeve this time and made the splotch ever bigger.

“Never better,” Harry groused, rapidly turning the ink smear into a large cloudy patch.

“You know, this is why you shouldn’t throw your erasers around--”

“I _know_ why I shouldn’t throw my erasers,” Harry snapped. He inhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose, smearing ink there as well. “Sorry. I’m-- headache. Have a good-- _date_.” He pronounced the word deliberately, like it was a foreign concept he’d only just learned.

“Thanks,” Cisco said, amusement bubbling up as he spied the ink on Harry’s nose. “You know, you’ve got a little--” he mimed wiping the bridge of his nose.

“Ha-ha, very funny, doesn’t work when I just did that to you,” Harry said, dry as a desert. He gave up trying to erase the ink smear on the whiteboard and began to simply write around it.

“No, I’m serious,” Cisco grinned, sun-bright. “You have ink on your nose.”

“Ramon,” Harry complained.

“You do!”

“Ramon. I’m trying to concentrate. Could you maybe--” Harry jerked his head towards the door.

Cisco’s shoulders drooped, his glee wilting. “Yeah. Sure. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He hopped off the workbench and left. On his way out, he glanced behind him, and saw Harry wiping at his nose with his sleeve.

He sighed and moved on. Sometimes, he just couldn’t figure Harry out.

\---

A few hours later, he stood in front of the full-length mirror on his closet door with two different shirts on hangers held against his chest, comparing a sleek grey v-neck tee to a dark blue button-up patterned with tiny Angry Birds. Dinner with Aurélie would be at 7:30pm. He was showered, faintly scented by his citron-sandalwood body wash (actual cologne was much too strong, he’d always thought), and his hair was a glossy, curly mane that any hairdresser would have been proud of. He was absolutely stunning.

“You are absolutely stunning,” he said to the mirror. He made bedroom eyes at himself, raising each of his eyebrows in turn. “ _Rawrrrrr._ ” He rolled the ‘r’ noise at the end, his expression quickly collapsing into ridiculousness. He bared his teeth a few times.

Then he heaved a sigh, and tipped backwards onto his bed with a _flumph_ , the shirts fluttering in the air as he spread his arms out to the sides. 

By all rights he should be excited. Aurélie was pretty, and quick-witted. And French. But Cisco couldn’t help but feel… empty about it. 

Aurélie didn’t know he was Vibe. Didn’t know he almost died on the regular. Or saved the city on the regular. Who knew, maybe she’d even end up being one of those people who hated metas. Or maybe she’d tell him she thought he’d been taller before, and she only went for tall guys. Or…. thanks but no thanks, you’re nice, let’s be friends, except then she’d never call or text, and he’d have preferred if she’d just stopped after “no thanks”.

Cisco let go of the shirts and dragged his nicely-moisturized hands over his nicely-moisturized face. He was borrowing trouble, he knew it, but it didn’t _help_ to know it.

“You are absolutely stunning,” he told himself again, voice muffled by his hands. “You’re…” Harry’s old words bubbled up in his mind, and he seized them. “...you’re a _fine, upstanding, smart, well-groomed young man,_ and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He heaved another sigh, then made himself sit up, retrieving the shirts.

“Svelte grey tee,” he decided with a decisive, tossing the button-up aside. 

He stared at the mirror. “....button-up.” He dropped the tee and flopped over the side of the bed to grab the blue shirt that had fallen over the edge.

Twenty minutes later he was striding out the door in the svelte grey tee, complemented by a simple black leather jacket. It was a little toned down from his usual bold attire, but Aurélie was cool and French, so he decided he should also be cool and… well, not French, obviously. But maybe something a little closer to what she might like. She was a grad student who’d just transferred from Paris to finish her degree at CCU, and was still delighted by all the new things she was learning about the States. Cisco thought he might ride that wave and take a shot at being the “cool American guy”. It was worth a shot, right? 

At 7:20pm sharp - the perfect amount of early - he strode into the classy-but-not-pretentious restaurant he’d picked out, armed with a single sunflower wrapped in newspaper. He’d complimented Aurélie’s sunflower-shaped earrings when he’d first met her, and she’d said they were her favorite flower. She’d have to be charmed at Cisco remembering such a detail.

He confidently claimed his reservation with the hostess (“Two for Mr. Ramon at 7:30--”) and settled in at the cozy little table to wait. By making sure he’d arrived first, he would demonstrate that he was respectful and definitely interested. Aurélie would show up and he would dazzle her with a smile, and the flower, and they’d have a magical Valentine’s evening. Maybe Cisco would even dare to invite her back to his place, if things went really well.

A waiter came by and filled up Cisco’s water glass. “Just waiting on one more,” Cisco said, grinning, even though the waiter was already moving on to the next group.

Cisco tapped his fingers on the table and watched condensation form on the outside of his glass. He checked his phone. 7:25pm. Almost time. He carefully adjusted, then readjusted the bit of twine securing the newspaper around the sunflower. Took a sip of water. Grimaced at the wet condensation on his fingers, and surreptitiously wiped them dry on the bottom edge of the white tablecloth. His neck began to pinch with how often he turned to look towards the entryway, looking for a glimpse of Aurélie’s mousy blonde hair.

7:30 arrived. Cisco wiped his sweaty palms on the tablecloth and picked up the sunflower, tilting in his seat to watch the door without hurting his neck.

Five nerve-wracking minutes later, he was still in the same position.

It was 7:40 when the waiter came back and asked tactfully if he wanted to start with a glass of wine while he was waiting. Cisco waved him off, laughing a little too loudly. 

“No, everything’s good here! She’s just running a little late! My date, that is.” He realized his tense hands were starting to crumple the newspaper on the sunflower, and gingerly put it back down on the table.

He texted Aurélie. _Hey, just checking in. I’m here at the restaurant. Can’t wait to see you._

Above his sent message, he could see their back-and-forth messages from the week before, clearly laying out the location and time. There should be no confusion. Cisco sighed and leaned back in his seat. She was probably just caught in traffic, and not texting because it wasn’t safe to text and drive. Yes, that was it. 

The air around Cisco was filled with the happy chatter of other patrons, the tinkling of cutlery on plates, and the soft croon of jazz music. Everywhere Cisco looked there were couples leaning close, murmuring to each other, smiling, stealing kisses. Feeding each other bites of food. The restaurant’s lights were lowered for the occasion, and augmented by strings of fairy lights strung about the place. It was really just as beautiful and intimate as Cisco could have hoped for, to really wow Aurélie. 

It was 7:50pm when the waiter returned again to gently nudge Cisco about wine, or appetizers. There were still no reply texts. Feeling pressured, Cisco ordered a glass of the house red wine. Was that pity in the waiter’s gaze? Or was he just projecting?

His glass of wine arrived, and he texted Aurélie again. 

_Everything okay? We still on for tonight?_

Again, there was no answer.

8pm arrived. Then 8:15pm. There was definitely pity in the waiter’s eyes when he passed by this time. Cisco was mostly finished with his wine, but rationed the last third into tiny sips so that it would look like he was doing something other than obsessively checking his phone, looking at the door, and pretending to read the menu.

At 8:30pm, he flagged down the waiter. “Check, please,” he said, cheeks burning with embarrassment, shoulders tense. He stared hard at the tablecloth until the bill arrived. He paid for his single glass of wine, left a 100% tip - his penance for taking up the table for so long without ordering food - and slunk out, the sunflower held limply at his side.

He felt… terrible. He’d so badly wanted this date, at first. And then, he hadn’t been sure. And then he’d come anyway, convincing himself after all that stress, and look where it had gotten him. It was worse than being loved-and-left.

Apparently, now he wasn’t even worth showing up for.

To his horror, Cisco found his eyes stinging, and he walked faster down the sidewalk as though that would help. He took a sharp breath, rallied with a little shake of his head, and walked up to the first elderly woman he saw walking alone. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, handing her the sunflower with a bright smile that did not match his insides.

“Oh! Thank you,” the old woman said in surprised delight.

Cisco gave her another smile and moved on, pace quickening again. He was fine. This was fine, right? People got stood up sometimes. Or, maybe there was a totally valid reason Aurélie hadn't shown! Maybe she had been in a small car accident! Or her grandmother had died, and she’d had to fly back to Paris in a hurry. Or--!

Cisco walked and walked, until his feet were starting to hurt. He checked his phone. It was 9:30pm, and there was a single text from Aurélie, time stamped twenty minutes prior. He must have missed the notification buzz in all his furious walking.

_will not make it, sorry_

That was it. No explanation, no… nothing.

Cisco stopped walking, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he abruptly beelined for the nearest shadowy alleyway, slipped behind a dumpster, and opened a breach.

He stepped through the glowing portal and into his shared workshop at STAR Labs. He’d considered going home, but that would have left him with an empty apartment and a busy mind. He needed to work on something. To _lose_ himself in something. A nice, sticky, complex technical problem that would utterly consume him until he stopped feeling like walking black hole. Well, worse than a walking black hole. Since the Thinker’s creation of so many new metas, he’d actually met a guy who was a walking black hole, and once his powers had gotten under control he was a pretty swell dude.

But that was beside the point. What Cisco needed right now was science. Science, and some of the bourbon he kept hidden in the back of his desk.

He had just finished tossing back a shot of Buffalo Trace from a test tube when Harry appeared suddenly at the doorway to the workshop, pulse rifle armed and at the ready. When he saw Cisco, he relaxed.

“It’s you,” he said, nonplussed. He blinked, then noticed for the first time how Cisco was dressed. His eyes were quick but thorough as they looked him up and down.

“C’est moi,” Cisco drawled, putting his arms out wide, glad at least someone was getting to see his painstakingly selected date outfit. The liquor was burning nicely in his empty belly. He could already feel it taking the anxious edge out of his posture.

At the French words, Harry suddenly looked around the workshop, a stricken look on his face. He powered down the pulse rifle and slung it harmlessly over his shoulder, though Cisco knew from experience that he could have it back at the ready in the time it took to blink. It was one of many things Cisco admired about him. 

Harry finished his visual scouring of the workshop and landed back on Cisco. “Is…?” he made a gesture with his hand that Cisco struggled to interpret.

“Is… what?” Cisco asked, squinting at him.

“Your--!” Harry gestured again, first at Cisco, then around at the lab. “Is she…?”

“Not sure what you mean,” Cisco said, too loud. He began pouring his second shot. 

“Your _date_ ,” Harry hissed, voice low. “Is she here? Should I… go?” His face was pained, and he edged back towards the door like a spooked deer about to flee. If Cisco had been in a better mood, he might have cracked a joke about Harry being afraid of a 5’2” French girl. But he was not in a better mood.

“She’s not here,” Cisco announced to the ceiling, half-shouting. Then he laughed without humor. “She never showed. Yup. Ya boy here got stood up. Stiffed. Left waiting at the first date altar.”

A complicated expression passed over Harry’s face - Cisco could see glimpses of confusion, anger, and something like… relief?

“She’s an idiot,” Harry declared, striding more fully into the room and depositing the pulse rifle on a table.

“She’s actually doing a pretty dope Master’s thesis in plant sciences,” Cisco said ruefully. “So, really damn smart.”

“There are different kinds of stupid,” Harry replied sagely. “It took being stupid for a while to learn that.” He came over to examine the bottle of Buffalo Trace. As he stepped close to Cisco, those blue eyes gave him another once-over, taking in the thin, silky v-neck and the leather jacket. 

Cisco felt a prickle of self-consciousness. He’d realized after leaving the house that the shirt was a little _too_ thin, and draped against his torso in a slightly suggestive, clingy way. “I know, it’s dumb,” he winced, gesturing to his outfit. 

“No,” Harry shook his head. “No. It’s a little less… colorful, than your usual choices. But you wear it well.” He leaned closer and his nostrils flared. "Hm. Good choice on the cologne, too. Subtle. Draws you in." He cleared his throat and poured himself a shot of bourbon in a graduated cylinder, and nodded at Cisco’s full test tube. “How many have you had?”

Cisco was still recovering from the goosebumps that had broken out all over his arms. “Just the one, so far.” 

“Well, wait on that next one. I’ll catch up.” Harry tipped back the graduated cylinder and swallowed with a smack of his lips.

Cisco’s insides warmed, and it had nothing to do with the bourbon. He put aside the test tube, settled in his chair, and pushed back from the desk with his feet, spinning out into the middle of the floor. “Does Earth-2 have Valentine’s Day?” he asked.

“We do,” Harry said, pouring a second shot into the graduated cylinder and setting it aside. “It’s… well, it’s mostly the same commercialized garbage fire that you have on this earth.”

“Hey, Valentine’s Day is romantic!” Cisco protested. “It’s when people show that they really care about each other!”

“If you consider overpriced restaurants and mass-produced stuffed animals to be ‘care’, I guess,” Harry shrugged. 

He ambled over to the work sink at the back of the room and filled two beakers with water from the tap. He slid one beaker next to Cisco’s abandoned test tube of bourbon on the desk, and sipped at the second one himself.

Cisco sighed heavily and spun his chair around with his toes on the floor. “Well, _some_ people like all the sappy stuff. I know it’s cheesy. You know, back in elementary school, I used to make valentines for all the other kids in my class? They were just hearts out of construction paper with candy taped on, but I liked doing it.”

“Cute,” Harry said, and for once he didn’t sound like he was mocking.

“I picked the _perfect_ venue tonight,” Cisco sighed. “It was all - romantic low lighting, and small tables, and jazz music in the background. I had the perfect flower picked out. The right outfit. I was perfectly on time. And she didn’t show. I think...” he sighed again, wishing the second shot of bourbon wasn’t far away on the desk. “I think the problem is me.”

“Bullshit,” Harry said promptly. “You’re a fine, upsta--”

“-- _upstanding, smart, well-groomed young man,”_ Cisco interrupted. “Yeah, I know. Apparently you’re the only one who thinks that means anything.” He got up, retrieved his test tube of bourbon, and knocked it back. He wrinkled his nose at the burn.

Harry followed him and took the shot waiting in his graduated cylinder. “This pity-party doesn’t suit you,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh, fuck off,” Cisco snapped, then immediately felt bad. Harry had done nothing but comfort him since he arrived. “Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, tiredly covering his face with his hands. “I’m an ass.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed. He tugged one of Cisco’s hands from his face and plunked the water in it. “About time I got to see the other side of that, I suppose.”

“Just because you’ve been a dick in the past, doesn’t mean I should get to be one now,” Cisco protested. He took a gulp of water. “I’m sorry.”

Harry clasped his shoulder. “Accepted.”

Cisco looked up at him. “You know, I wouldn’t bring her here anyway,” he said.

“What?” Harry looked thrown.

“When you first got here, you asked if I’d brought my date here,” Cisco replied, bourbon tingling in his blood. “Even if I liked her I wouldn’t have brought her here.” He looked around at all the slightly-organized chaos of equipment and half-finished projects. “This is our space. Yours and mine.”

Harry’s eyes crinkled. It might have been the bourbon, but there might have been a little more color in his cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He smiled and squeezed Cisco’s shoulder. “And don’t you forget it. Now come on, let’s work on something.”

An hour later, Cisco was draped like ragdoll over one of the couches he’d dragged into the workshop ages back. He’d done very little actual work, and quickly sunk back into his own dark thoughts. Harry tinkered with a project under a magnifying lens. His tongue peeped out between his lips as he handled the delicate instruments with a surprisingly steady hand.

“No one stays,” Cisco complained from the couch, breaking the silence of the last few minutes.

“Mm?” Harry asked.

“No one stays,” Cisco repeated, thinking again about Kendra. Cynthia. _Aurélie_. “They just-- tell me nice things, and get my hopes up, and then it turns out I’m not good enough. Was never good enough.” He heaved a rough sigh, eyes going hot. He kept spiraling back to this horrible train of thought, unable to convince himself it wasn’t true.

Harry put down his tools and made his way over to the couch, fingers trailing over the back of it. He picked up Cisco’s legs, unceremoniously dropped them off the edge of the cushions, and sat in the empty space left behind. He considered Cisco’s dramatic sprawl.

“I told you, this pity party doesn’t suit you.”

Cisco sniffled and let his eyes drift close. “Is it pity if it’s true? No one ever sticks around.”

“I stayed.”

It was so quiet, Cisco almost missed it. He opened his eyes and looked blearily over at Harry.

“What?” he asked.

Harry licked his lips. “I stayed,” he repeated, a little louder this time. He looked up and met Cisco’s gaze. “I… I know I left for a little while to fix my brain, but then I came back. I’m here. Sticking around.”

“That’s… that means a lot, Harry, it really does,” Cisco told him earnestly, lurching up to a fully sitting position, limbs loosy-goosey from liquor. “But, unless you’re staying because you’re crazy about alla this,” he gestured to his own body, snorting at the absurdity of the idea, “you’re kind of in a different category.”

Harry licked his lips again, and looked away. Cisco thought his point had landed, thought the avenue had been discarded like the crazy notion it was, but then Harry was looking at him again, and this time it was with an open, painfully vulnerable expression that made Cisco want to wrap him up and never let go.

“And if I’m not?” Harry asked.

“What?” Cisco said, having lost the thread of their words in his pondering of Harry’s face.

“In a different category,” Harry replied. He squared his shoulders like he was about to go into a firefight with a dangerous meta. “Though, if we want to get technical about it, I’m also completely wild about your mind, in addition to…” he waved at Cisco’s body, “ _alla that._ ”

He glared at Cisco, then, as though daring him to disagree. 

“Are you drunk?” Cisco asked, huffing incredulously. “You don’t have to make up dumb jokes to make me feel better--”

“I’m not drunk, and I’m not joking,” Harry snapped.

“Yeah? Prove it,” Cisco grinned smugly at him, leaning close with a challenge in the set of his jaw. “Kiss me. Show me how much you _looooove_ me.” There was no way Harry would--

The next thing Cisco felt was Harry’s mouth on his, kissing the mocking words right off his lips. 

It wasn’t a perfunctory stage kiss, either - it was fierce, heated with Harry’s irritation and defiance. Cisco, bewildered, felt like he’d been swept up in a strong current, and his fingers curled in Harry’s shirt for something to hold onto. He was completely pulled under when just as suddenly, Harry gentled, and the brashness melted into a caress.

Cisco shivered, and Harry pulled away.

“So you see,” Harry said, words forcibly casual even as he panted like he’d just run a mile, “I’m not joking.” His fingers trembled as they slid along Cisco’s jaw.

Words failed Cisco. His nerve endings were fizzling and sparking.

At the silence, Harry sat back, worry creasing his face. “Cisco?” His hands fell away, and Cisco missed their touch immediately. “Cisco, I’m-- I’m sorry. You know what? I am drunk,” Harry said in a rush. “Two shots in an hour just, whoops, went right to the ol’ head, you know how it is. We can just-- forget that happened-- ha, ha, what a funny joke--”

He made to get up, but Cisco’s hand shot out to grab his wrist, and he stopped.

“You said you weren’t drunk, and you weren’t joking,” Cisco reminded him, finding his voice at last. His mind was swirling, thoughts racing and crashing into each other, like the chaos before he solved a really complex equation. Harry was the eye of the storm, he knew that much. Cisco licked his lips and gently tugged Harry to sit down again. 

Harry didn’t resist, sitting heavily on the couch cushion like his strings had been cut. He couldn’t meet Cisco’s eye, though, and stared at the floor, shoulders hunched as though whatever Cisco said next would land like a physical blow. His head jerked up again when Cisco moved from holding Harry’s wrist to holding his hand, cradling it in both of his own.

“You sure keep your cards close to your chest,” Cisco said quietly, thumbs tracing at Harry’s toughened calluses and strong, capable fingers.

Harry let out a shaky exhale. “I’m pretty sure I just put them all on the table, actually.”

Experimentally, Cisco laced his fingers with Harry’s, and heard him suck in a breath.

“And this really isn’t the bourbon?” Cisco asked uncertainly.

Harry shook his head. “It gave me a little more courage to say something, maybe. But that’s all.”

Cisco swallowed. “You’ve been grumpy all day.” It was a statement, but he knew Harry would hear the question in it. Harry knew him like that - they were always in sync. Maybe even more in sync than he’d realized.

“Jealousy isn’t something I handle gracefully,” Harry admitted. “One of my many faults.”

Wry humor twisted Cisco’s mouth. Harry’s hand was warm in his.

“Um,” he started, but his words scattered when he met Harry’s gaze. All the man’s attention was focused on Cisco, and it was a heady feeling. 

Harry waited. 

Cisco rallied and continued, “Um. I was a little surprised, when you kissed me before. I’m not sure I could process it that fast. Can we... try again?” He looked up at Harry through his lashes, sure that this, _this_ was when Harry would laugh at him and reveal the joke after all.

But Harry didn’t. Instead, there was incredulous hope was blooming in his blue eyes. “Obviously,” he said, and he tipped Cisco’s chin up with his free hand, and leaned in.

Harry's lips were as soft as before, though the kiss was more measured. Careful. It made Cisco feel... cherished. He sighed into it and let the pull of the current take him. His senses were buzzing, hyper-aware of all the places he and Harry were in contact. Had this really been right in front of him this whole time? Was he that oblivious? A nagging feeling told him that was the case. 

After a moment, Harry pulled back. “Well?” he said, clearing a rasp from his throat. There was red high in his cheeks, stronger than the flush of alcohol, and Cisco marveled that he’d been the one to put it there.

“...You’ll need to be patient with me,” Cisco replied at last. At Harry’s questioning look, he continued, “I apparently have a lot to catch up with. I think… I think it might have been there all along. I just… I didn’t even think it was an option. So I didn’t let myself read into anything.”

Harry let out a breath Cisco hadn’t realized he was holding. “I can be patient. Of course I can be patient.” He squeezed Cisco’s hand. 

“Now I know you’re into me,” Cisco replied, only half-jokingly. “You’re never patient about _anything._ ”

“I can be for you,” Harry said, so sincerely that Cisco had to lean forward and kiss him again. And yeah, he could definitely get used to this. Harry kissed like he was afraid each time would be the last.

When they parted, Harry stood and tugged Cisco to his feet. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

He led Cisco to the device he’d been tinkering over. It looked a bit like… a stapler crossed with a teapot. “Watch this.” He tore a strip of graph paper from his notepad and fed it into one side of the device. There was a mechanical _chnk-chnk-chnk_ noise, and the paper was slowly drawn in. The device rumbled for a moment before a cloud of confetti burst out of a tube angled upward at the other end. 

“They’re hearts,” Cisco laughed, delighted as he caught a few with his palm and looked more closely.

Harry fed in another strip of graph paper, and the machine quickly digested it into more heart confetti that rained down around them both.

“You don’t even like Valentine’s Day,” Cisco said, puzzled, but still grinning broadly as he put his hands out to catch more, wheeling in a slow circle like he was playing in the snow.

“No,” Harry agreed. “But you do.”

Cisco, deeply touched by this admission and everything it implied, expressed his feelings the best way he knew how: he threw his captured handful of confetti at Harry’s face.

Harry growled in mock outrage and immediately tackled him backwards onto the couch. Cisco shrieked and laughed and they both tumbled off the cushions onto the floor with a _thump_. Behind them, the confetti machine snagged one of Harry’s folders of notes and calmly began to eat it, spewing more and more hearts into the air.

Neither Harry nor Cisco noticed. They were far too occupied with each other.


End file.
